


Lemonade Stands Are a Bad Idea When Your Name is Karkat Vantas

by mitslits



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 04:42:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4508223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitslits/pseuds/mitslits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off the beloved Internet sensation "The Duck Song", this little fic was a request from a friend. Featuring Dave as the Duck and Karkat as the owner of the infamous lemonade stand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lemonade Stands Are a Bad Idea When Your Name is Karkat Vantas

**Author's Note:**

> My friend asked me to do this and who am I to say no to creating ART?

Karkat sat with his chin propped in one hand, drawing lazy circles in the water beading up on the pitcher of lemonade that sat prominently at the front of the stand. Business had been non-existent since he'd set up that morning and, after four hours, he'd grown more than a little bored. Not to mention he was sweating up a storm in the black sweatshirt he was wearing despite it being the middle of August, and his lemonade was starting to look pretty damn good. Why not just drink it all himself?

He was just reaching for a cup when he saw someone shimmering toward him through the heat wave. The boy was blond and he was wearing a pair of aviators that obviously meant he thought he was way cooler than he actually was, but a customer was a customer, and Karkat set the cup down, offering him a toothy grin. "Looking for some lemonade?" he asked, already expecting a yes.

The boy was, of course, Dave and he just stared at him, black lenses flashing in the sunlight, preventing anyone from seeing his eyes. Karkat hesitated, hand wrapped around the pitcher.

The kid was starting to creep him out a little, if he was being honest, but he didn't want to drive away the only person who'd approached him all day. "Um... can I.. pour you a glass?"

Dave carefully placed his hands on a clear spot on the table and leaned forwards until his face was only inches from the troll's.

As the boy leaned towards him, Karkat leaned back, taking the pitcher with him. This guy was weird, no doubt about it, and he wanted him to leave, potential client or not.

"You know what I really want?" Dave asked suddenly, much more loudly than he needed to, given how close their faces were.

The sudden introduction of Dave's voice startled Karkat so much that he jumped a bit, sloshing a bit of lemonade over the rim of the pitcher and onto his sweatshirt. He scowled in annoyance and his look of unease morphed into a glare. "Lemonade. That's why you came to a _lemonade_ stand," he said, pointing at the sign above his head advertising just such a product.

Dave clicked his tongue in reprimand as he slowly shook his head back and forth, pulling back and folding his arms over his chest. "Assumptions get you nowhere, man. Cause, see, what I really want," he paused dramatically and one eyebrow crawled up his face, "are some nice. Juicy. Grapes."

Karkat paused, taken aback. "What?"

Dave nonchalantly shrugged one shoulder. "Grapes. I want them," he reiterated.

"Well... I... just have lemonade," Karkat sputtered, not quite sure what the hell was going on. Was Troll Ashton Kutcher about to pop out from behind a tree, screaming about how he'd been Punked or something? Why else would a kid walk up to a lemonade stand and demand grapes?

With a sigh, Dave let his arms fall back to his side, shaking his head sorrowfully once more. "I'll pass."

Then he walked away, leaving Karkat with a lemonade-stained sleeve and the beginnings of a twitch in his left eye.

_______________________

Because business had gone so swimmingly the first day, Karkat decided to set up his stand again. It was just as thrilling as the day before, and he found himself baking and drawing patterns after just an hour or so. Still, it was nice to just be able to sit outside and do nothing for a change. He didn't get much of that.

Then he saw him. Through the heat haze, walking with the same lazy lope that he'd had before, dark aviators still declaring his wildly overhyped coolness. The Grape Inquisitor.

Or so Karkat had nicknamed him in his head. He had a tendency to lean to the dramatic side of things, especially in his own head. But perhaps the previous day had been a fluke. Perhaps the question had been prompted by a bit too much sun or something. He was willing to hold back his insults long enough to see if this was, in fact, intelligent life.

"Lemonade?" he asked as the kid approached.

"Hey, I'm sorry about yesterday," Dave said, ignoring the question entirely. "Staring at you like that. It was a dick move." He fell silent, staring at Karkat.

Karkat simply arched an eyebrow and offered out the pitcher. "Do you want some or not? You're holding up the line."

Dave made a big show of looking around the empty yard, turning back to Karkat with a smirk. "Fine, then, I'll make this quick. Wouldn't want to ruin your booming business. I just have a question."

' _Don't be about grapes, don't be about grapes, don't be about grapes_ ,' Karkat chanted in his head.

"Have you got any grapes?"

Karkat's grip on the pitcher tightened and he gritted his teeth. Not sunstroke, then. "No," he managed to say, teeth still clenched shut. "All I have is lemonade. Read. The. Sign."

Dave bit his bottom lip, obviously amused, before reaching up to adjust his glasses just slightly. "Goodbye."

Then he walked away, leaving Karkat with a face flushed red with anger and a definite twitch in his left eye.

___________________

The third day proved just as full of customers as the first and boy the time the Grape Inquisitor rolled around Karkat was determined to pack things up. He'd already dumped the cups into a big plastic container and snapped the lid on when the boy showed up, fake-cool as ever.

"Don't mind me; just packing up. It doesn't matter since you don't want any lemonade anyways," Karkat said, bending down to retrieve his bucket of ice.

"I never said that," Dave protested.

Karkat started to stand up, banged his head against the bottom of the table, and came up rubbing it, one eye squeezed shut. "What?"

"I didn't say I never wanted any lemonade," Dave pointed out.

After opening and closing his mouth a few times without producing any noticeable results, Karkat hesitantly reached for the pitcher. "I'll just... get you some then?" he said, the statement more of a question than a statement.

When Dave didn't protest, Karkat busied himself unpacking one of the cups, scooping out a couple ice cubes and dropping them in.

"What are you doing?" Dave asked as Karkat reached for the pitcher.

"Getting you some lemonade," Karkat said slowly, enunciating each syllable clearly and glancing over at him like he was an idiot.

Dave's head tipped slightly to one side. "Why? I never said I wanted any."

The styrofoam cup splintered as Karkat's hand crushed around it like a vice.

"I was just wondering," Dave began before he could say anything, "have you got any grapes?"

Fuming, Karkat took the pitcher, dumped half of it in the cup where it promptly spilled through the cracks onto the pavement and shoved it out towards him. "Just take the damn lemonade," he screeched, voice much higher-pitched than he wanted it to be.

"How about no?"

With that, Dave turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Karkat with a broken, lemonade-soaked cup, and a prominent twitch in his left eye.

_________________________

Karkat didn't know why he was doing this at this point. He was practically torturing himself. No one ever came around except the Grape Inquisitor and he was half-certain the twitch was well on its way to permanent. But this day was different. His business was booming and he sold two pitchers worth of lemonade before customers stopped coming by. Satisfied, Karkat started putting everything away as quickly as he could. He wanted to be gone by the time-

It was too late. There was the blond, headed straight towards him, hands in pockets, aviators perched on his cooler-than-thou nose. He was whistling. The damn kid was whistling, as if he was looking forward to pissing all over Karkat's day.

Well, he was sick of it. Sick of sitting here and letting this guy ask his damn grape question.

"Hey," Dave said without preamble. Apparently, he was growing tired of stretching this out as well. "Got any-"

"No! I don't! I don't have any of your damn grapes and, just to spite you, you shameful, bitching douchesack, I'm never going to buy grapes again _in my life_! Did you hear me? And I"m going to tell everyone I know to stay away from grapes like they carry the plague, just so the grape market collapses and you also can never buy grapes again! They will disappear from this planet. History books will speak of the extinct fruit once called the 'grah-pay' just to remind of how fucking delicious grapes were. You'll go without seeing a grape so long you'll forget they ever existed! So fuck you! Fuck you and your fucking grapes!" Karkat's face was beet-red and his hands were curled into fists at his side, glare fixed firmly on Dave.

Dave's eyebrows rose and his hands came up as if to say he surrendered. "Woah, calm down. I just wanted to ask you one question, I swear, just one. And it's not about grapes."

Karkat didn't say anything, just breathed out heavily through his nose, wild look in his eyes.

"I was just wondering," Dave began, "if you had any lemonade."

With a herculean effort, Karkat calmed himself down. His hands uncurled and his shoulders relaxed, one corner of his mouth even managed to twitch up into something almost close to a smile. "Why, yes. Yes, I do. Let me just get some for you." He grabbed the pitcher and walked around to Dave, giving him an actual smile this time, albeit a cold one. "Here you are." Quick as a flash, Karkat darted forwards, seizing the front of Dave's pants and yanking them away from his waist as far as he could get them. Before Dave had a chance to say anything, let alone do anything, he'd emptied the contents of the pitcher into the opening he'd created, springing back out of reach before retaliation could occur. 

Dave could have handled the lemonade. The lemonade wasn't that bad. It was the ice that decided his underwear made a good home that had him hopping up and down, cursing, and frantically trying to spoon ice out of his pants.

Karkat took one look at the sight and doubled over, laughing. This was better than he had imagined, far better. That was being mentally snapshotted so he could laugh over it again later. But now was the time for running. Karkat took off before Dave could recover enough to realize he was bigger (and probably stronger) than the troll, gulping down air when he could. Revenge was sweeter than his lemonade had ever been.

__________________________

There was no more lemonade stand after that. Dave returned to the spot the next day to find nothing more than abandoned stand with a small something in the exact middle of the table. When he got closer he saw it for what it was. A small cluster of grapes.

 


End file.
